


smoke and mirrors

by kylo_bae



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Fixing that dumpster fire ending because Ben Solo and Rey deserve a happy ending, Post-Canon, Spoilers for Episode IX, The Rise of Skywalker Fix-it, You can pry their happiness from my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:22:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21965635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kylo_bae/pseuds/kylo_bae
Summary: **THIS SUMMARY HAS SPOILERS FOR STAR WARS EPISODE IX: THE RISE OF SKYWALKER**“And here I thought you would be happy to see me, sweetheart.”His wide mouth quirked into that achingly beautiful smile – a smile she had only seen once before.Rey was torn between sobbing with joy, grabbing his face and kissing the living daylights out of him, or throwing her potted cactus at hisstupidhead for making her believe he wasdead.And in the next second, a very not-dead Ben Solo was ducking as a perfectly-aimed potted cactus sailed towards his stupid head.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Reylo
Comments: 104
Kudos: 512





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This is a fix-it fic for Episode IX, meaning there are lots of spoilers!
> 
> After seeing TROS last week, I have slowly been working through the five stages of grief. I am now on step two: anger (more like absolutely PISSED), so I have been furiously keyboard-mashing for the past two days to produce the first chapter of this story. 
> 
> Because Ben and Rey deserve their happy ending.

Another explosion of fireworks rent the air, illuminating the night sky in a vibrant shower of gold and red that felt like a distinct mockery of Rey’s current mood.

It had been _hours_ since everyone had returned to Ajan Kloss following the final battle, and the celebrations had yet to dwindle in enthusiasm. Merriment prevailed everywhere she glanced – people toasting the victory with raised glasses, complete strangers hugging in elation. Someone had even broken out a _banjo_ and was strumming out a tune that some were laughingly dancing along to.

From her self-imposed isolation on the periphery of the fete, Rey spied Rose dragging a half-heartedly protesting Finn into the dance circle, egged on by a flushed-cheek Poe. Despite her moroseness, it was a small point of light in what had otherwise been the darkest day of her life.

A sloshing cup filled to the brim with some unidentifiable sort of alcohol was shoved into her hands by a raucous Beaumont Kin, making her jolt. “Drink up, Rey!” he crowed (and slurred more than a little bit). “The First Order is gone, Palpatine is dead! Everything’s right in the galaxy again!”

Rey smiled (or at least grimaced) politely at the rejoicing man, even though it felt like someone was pinching her lips with pliers and forcing them to stretch apart.

She waited until Beaumont had been engulfed by the crowd once again, then promptly dumped the cup’s crimson liquid into a nearby bush. She resisted the urge to empty the contents of her stomach into the shrubbery as well.

So everything was right in the galaxy again, huh?

Dark eyes flashed into her mind, a gaze that had tenderly mapped the lines of her face as his hand cupped the back of her neck. 

Bile rose into her throat; her breathing quickened.

_No_. _No, don’t think of it. Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think –_

She couldn’t afford to break down. Not _here_ , not around people who were rejoicing at the thought of the former Supreme Leader of the First Order being…being…

_Dark eyes._

_A tentative, heartbreaking smile._

She whirled around, searching desperately for anything else to focus on.

Her eyes fell on a couple resting against a nearby tree locked in a passionate embrace…a tall man with shaggy brown curls and a woman with waves of chestnut hair. He kissed her once, twice, three times, lips skimming over forehead, nose, and mouth with affectionate playfulness.

_“Ben,” Rey had breathed, every ounce of feeling she possessed for this man encapsulated in that one name. Kissing him, allowing him to draw her further into his arms – had there ever been anything in her whole life that had felt more like coming home?_

Rey’s hand rose to unsteadily clench against her chest.

An ugly bitterness snuck into her heart, its thorny tendrils sinking deeper the longer she looked at the couple before her. It was like staring into a twisted sort of mirror that showed her exactly what could have been, if fate had finally felt like being kind to her for once.

But Ben Solo was dead, and she was the only one who mourned.

The one person to ever wholly understand her was _gone_ , and she was utterly alone in the universe yet again.

She wanted to cry and rage at the unfairness of it all. Hadn’t both she and Ben suffered enough for ten lifetimes? Hadn’t they deserved a chance to cultivate that tentative bond that had been repeatedly stretched thin by distance and battle, but never broken?

Hadn’t they deserved a chance to really and truly…

Her ponderings were shattered by a shout of laughter: she saw the couple had broken apart from their embrace, the tall man now twirling his partner about in his arms.

_Oh Ben, would that have been us?_

Rey had to leave – had to go anywhere but _here_.

So she turned and ran blindly in the direction of the only place she could call home anymore, the continued sounds of rejoicing a specter at her back. 

* * * * 

Rey weaved between her comrades who were already deep in their cups and on their way to being well and truly drunk. She agilely twisted away from the shouted accolades ( _“The warrior who killed Palpatine!”)_ and the outstretched hands that sought to pull her into the revelries.

She wasn’t Rey the Last Jedi and savior of the Resistance anymore – she was Rey, the scared and lonely girl who was frightened to death of crumbling into a thousand irreparable pieces.

Only one wild thought ran through her mind: she needed to escape, to find shelter from the overwhelming noise and light and _happiness_.

And there was only one haven she could think of that met that criteria.

Unfortunately, Rey didn’t get very far. Her feet had only just touched the well-trodden jungle trail that would guide her to the ship depot where Lando had left the _Falcon_ when a towering figure abruptly stepped into her path.

Rey’s face, naturally tanned from long afternoons spent in the sunlight, paled.

Oh _stars_. The one person she’d been attempting to hide from the entire night was now blocking her escape route to the _Falcon_.

No no no no _no_. She wasn’t _ready_ for this, she _couldn’t_ –

The large, hairy obstacle in front of her let out a plaintive roar.

Rey winced. “I-I wasn’t avoiding you, Chewie.”

_Except for the part where I was_ , she thought miserably. After all, how in the worlds was she supposed to answer the one question she knew Chewie was going to ask?

She herself hadn’t had even a moment to _breathe_ and process the answer to that terrible, looming question.

Rey had desperately shoved all the events in the Sith chamber on Exegol into the furthest reaches of her mind and slammed a mental door shut on it – the sole reason being that if she hadn’t, if she had allowed herself to really _dwell_ and _mourn_ and _scream_ _(oh by the Force, how she had wanted to_ scream _until her throat bled),_ she likely would have run Luke’s X-wing straight into the ground and died in a fiery explosion before ever being able to see her friends again.

For her own sake, she had ignored everything else and focused only on running into Finn and Poe’s outstretched arms.

And if, for one wrenching moment, she had pretended that someone else had been holding her – someone taller and who touched her like he couldn’t believe she was real…well, no one ever had to know.

But now the euphoria of victory and reuniting with her friends was withering away, and cold reality had begun to creep into its place. The first wintery dose was here, in the form of Chewie’s eyes, so old and tired as he gleaned from her fragile expression what she was unable to give voice to.

“I – I was just…”

_Dark eyes._

“I was – ”

_A tentative, heartbreaking smile._

“I – I couldn’t – ”

_Lips that devoured. Hands that were so big and warm and anchored her safely against him._

_Safe. She had felt safe for the first time in her life._

_And then she had lost it._

_She hadn’t been able to hold onto his hand_. _She had tried so hard to hold onto his hand with all her might, but she’d allowed him to slip away into a place she couldn’t follow_.

“Chewie,” she choked out. “Chewie, it’s my fault. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!”

The tears she had been suppressing for an eternity – _had it really only been hours, hours since her fingers had cupped his cheek, tangled in his hair? –_ began to spill, hot and stinging, down her cheeks. Rey’s throat felt like it was being mercilessly squeezed in a vise-like grip, making her hiccup as she struggled for breath.

_Ben._

_Ben._

_Ben._

_Be with me._

_Be with me._

_Please. Please, I don’t know how to do this without you._

“I can’t – I can’t, Chewie, I c-can’t – ” she babbled, feeling like she was drowning, drowning, drowning…

Warmth enveloped her.

Her face pressed into soft fur, her tears soaking damply into Chewie’s shaggy coat as he hugged her. He smelled comfortingly like the _Falcon_ – like the old leathery seats and rusty machinery and pungent oil.

A lonely growl punctured her own sobs, the sound ripping from the Wookie’s throat as one more name was added to his ever-expanding list of loved ones to grieve. She could feel Chewie shaking, could hear his agonized snuffling, even as he fought to be a pillar for her to lean on.

And Rey knew that it was all her fault.

She had died, or at least been so close to the brink of death it hadn’t made a difference…and Ben had given everything – every broken, damaged, _shining_ part of his being – to revive her.

Every breath she now drew should have been Ben’s. Every star she looked at in the night sky should have been seen by Ben’s eyes.

Her fingers clenched in Chewie’s fur. _I’m so sorry_.

There was an itching at the back of her mind, as though something was struggling to get in. It was a familiar sensation to Rey – she often had it when someone nearby was experiencing strong emotion, as people tended to unconsciously project their thoughts and feelings at such times. Master Leia had always impressed upon her the importance of allowing others their privacy.

But right now, as sad and tired as she was, Rey didn’t care much about what a Jedi was or wasn’t supposed to do. Curious, Rey cautiously lowered the mental barriers she had enacted like an iron fortress ever since Exegol.

And then there was a memory. But not one that belonged to her.

_There is a baby – no, a toddler. Chubby cheeked with riotous black curls and a smile to rival the sun._

_And he is laughing, laughing so joyously that Chewie thinks his heart will burst with how much he loves this little cub. Chewie tosses the boy playfully into the air, catching Ben in his waiting arms as he squeals in delight._

_“More! More!” Ben cries out. “More, Unca Chewie!” He valiantly roars in an imitation of Chewie, making the Wookie chuckle._

_Han and Leia are nearby, arms around each other in a rare moment of serenity. Their adoring gazes never stray from Ben’s smile._

The memory faded, although the feelings contained within it lingered. Rey knew what Chewie was trying to show her.

Ben had been loved. He had been so, so loved.

She could only pray that, in the very end, he knew just how much. That he knew that _she_ …

The thought froze in its tracks. A hard lump clogged her throat, like she was attempting to choke down one of the rock-like protein supplements she had thrived on back as a scavenger on Jakku.

She closed her eyes, exhaustedly resting her cheek once more against her friend.

“Thank you,” she said. “Chewie…thank you.” 

* * *

Rey’s brow puckered as she drew near to Tatooine. With its dull orange and brown surface that lacked any sort of interspersed vibrant blues or greens, she didn’t think she’d ever seen such a miserable planet.

And having grown up on Jakku, the galaxy’s testament to the existence of hell, that was saying quite a lot.

Chewie and Maz had been the one to suggest her visitation. They said that she might find some sort of closure by seeing where everything had started – by seeing the place where a young slave had learnt he could be something more, the place where a simple farm boy had dreamt of adventure. The place where a princess had slain a ruthless crime lord and saved the love of her life.

Unfortunately, her friends hadn’t been quite so approving of her impromptu leave of absence.

Rose and Poe had been baffled at Rey’s uncharacteristic melancholy and her desire to temporarily abandon all that was supposed to follow in the wake of victory, such as the reinstatement of the Republic and the Galactic Senate, and reestablishing a Jedi order.

To be fair to their confusion, Rey had never informed any of her friends just exactly what her relationship with Kylo Ren had been comprised of. Namely that the two of them had been two halves of a Force dyad, understood each other like no one else could, and had the uncanny habit of holding conversations even when at opposite ends of the galaxy.

So far as everyone knew, the official story was that Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader and enemy of the Resistance (and, by extension, Rey) had perished on Exegol along with Palpatine and the majority of the First Order followers. 

No one knew, or cared, that a man named Ben Solo, the son of Leia Organa and the last Skywalker, had died as well.

And no one knew that it constantly felt like Rey was walking about with one half of her soul ripped away.

“It’s only been _two weeks_ since we won, and you want to go running off? To do what…train?” Poe had sputtered incredulously. He dragged an agitated hand through his curly hair. “I thought you’d already mastered all the mystic mumbo jumbo that you needed to!”

Rose had exuded slightly more tact. To her credit, she had been more concerned than upset (unlike a fuming Poe). “Rey, I have to ask…is everything alright? You’ve just seemed so _distant_ since the last battle.”

Finn had possessed marginally more understanding, his assessing gaze as discomfiting in its astuteness as ever. Honestly, sometimes Rey had a sneaking suspicion that she wasn’t the only Resistance recruit that was Force sensitive. It was something she really needed to address eventually.

Rey had fidgeted nervously under his silent consideration, but her heart swelled to three times its normal size when Finn had finally smiled, his fingers giving hers a reassuring squeeze.

“Take as long as you want, Rey,” he had told her gently, in a way that was so _Finn_ that it hurt. “Figure things out. We’ve got everything handled until you get back…even with _this_ knucklehead leading us now.” He elbowed Poe with a playful smirk.

“Hey!” Poe had groused indignantly, while Rose giggled to the side.

A tiny smile graced Rey’s lips at the memory as she carefully maneuvered the _Falcon_ onto an isolated bit of sand outside of Mos Eisley not already occupied by craggy rocks, dewbacks, or Jawas. The engines fell silent with their usual protesting splutter (which Rey always lovingly insisted was just the _Falcon_ having _character_ , while Poe always countered that it was the _Falcon_ spitefully getting ready to explode and end his life fifty years too early).

“You ready, girl?” Rey asked the ship softly, not feeling a bit silly about talking to something that couldn’t talk back. Growing up on Jakku meant that friends were sparse and you quickly learned that most sentient beings there either wanted to rob you or kill you; chatting to inanimate objects and plants was the safest option when you were feeling lonely.

In fact, her best friend from ages five to seven had been a sand lizard who had occupied a crevice in her rusty old shelter.

Which was actually fairly depressing now that she properly thought about it.

Realizing she was stalling, Rey sighed and undid her seat harness with a _click_. Her newly-crafted lightsaber (which she was _quite_ proud of, thank you very much) was secured on her belt first. She might have recently defeated the reincarnated root of all evil, but she wasn’t taking _any_ chances by naively wandering about a new world unarmed.

The way her luck had run for the past year, she would probably be accosted by some ancient Sith order hiding on Tatooine or something.

Her hand hovered hesitantly for a moment over the lumpy clothed bundle that sat in the co-pilot’s chair, a pang of sadness hitting her.

She had always hated saying goodbye.

But Chewie and Maz were right: Rey needed closure and to obtain some sense of peace. It wasn’t fair to herself, to her friends, or to the people who relied on her that she continue numbly trudging through life like a dead woman walking.

And it wasn’t fair to Ben, who had sacrificed his life so that hers could endure.

With that in mind, she scooped up the bundle, left the _Falcon’s_ cockpit, and prepared herself to enter the barren wasteland of endless sand that was Tatooine.

* * * * 

The Lars’ homestead proved relatively simply to find directions to – apparently it was something of a local legend in the area. The first few people she approached about it had regarded Rey with spooked expressions and hurried away, but she eventually found luck in a seedy Mos Eisley canteen she wandered into.

“Yehhh, ol’ Owen Lars and his wife got murdered thar ‘bout, uh, thirty, forty years back,” a wizened, toothless man informed her. He picked up the grimy glass in front of him, easily tossing back the equally grimy contents. “Some say the Imps got ‘em, others say they crossed the Tuskens.”

“How sad,” Rey said quietly, bowing her head in response to the tale.

“Yeah…their kid disappeared too, ya know.” The old man shook his head. “Story goes that he died in the raid…although some loonies insist he escaped and became some big ass hero in the war instead.”

“You don’t say,” she said, amused.

“Heh, hogwash if you ask me.” Her conversational partner chortled. “Wasn’t nobody from Tatooine that ever did anything of importance.”

“I’m sure.” She thought of a destroyed Death Star, the defeat of an evil Empire, the creation of a New Republic, and the training of a new generation of Jedi. It was difficult to hide her smile.

“Anyways, what’s a pretty lil’ thing like yerself askin’ about it for? Can’t be of much interest to ya.”

“Actually, I was hoping you might know the coordinates for the farm.” Unfortunately, Chewie and Maz hadn’t known the precise location of Luke’s old home. And since Master Luke hadn’t seen fit to grace her with his ghostly presence for a while now, she had exhausted her short list of people to ask. “I’m looking to go there.”

The man shrugged. “Probably overrun by the blasted desert after all these years, but yer welcome to waste yer time.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Rey said. Although the thought _was_ a little dispiriting…what if what the man said was true, that there wasn’t anything remaining?

She accepted the coordinates (and directions to where she could rent a landspeeder, to avoid the arduous process of having to coax the _Falcon_ to get up and running again) with profuse thanks and left the cantina as fast as she could, the hot press of bodies and smoky smell making her stomach churn.

The marketplace outside was no less crowded, but at least it lacked the nauseating scent of smoke and bodily odors.

She passed by the various vendors of the bazaar as she made her way towards the transport hub, enjoying the liveliness of the sellers and traders. The back-and-forth banter, the roar of laughter, the children skittering about playing…it reminded Rey of the festivities on Pasaana she had experienced, for however short a time.

One stall that caught her attention was abundant with _greenery_ , selling adorable little cactus plants adorned with brightly colored blossoms on top.

It was too much for Rey to resist.

The stall was devoid of any other customers, and was being manned by an elderly, bent-over woman with a shock of white hair piled atop of her head.

“Hello dear,” the woman greeted Rey as she approached, recognition of a potential buyer eliciting an eager gleam in her eyes. “See something you like?”

Rey nodded shyly towards the cacti nestled in their pots, touching one with admiration. “They’re so lovely,” she said. “I didn’t realize anything like this could grow here.”

The old woman huffed. “Yes, well, not a lot of people much care about things like this nowadays. No one but me even bothers to sell ‘em.”

Scanning the display, Rey’s gaze caught upon one particularly scraggly cactus. It was little and spindly compared to its brothers and sisters, with only the barest hint of blossoms. Not as strong or flashy as its compatriots…but it was trying. And it was still thriving.

_Like me_.

Rey lifted the cactus with an odd tenderness, cradling the pot against her. “Could I buy this one, please?”

“Oh no, you don’t want _that_ one, dear,” the vendor assured her. “Honestly, I was planning on tossing it out tomorrow...it probably won’t live much longer anyways. Don’t you want one of the prettier ones, with all their lovely flowers?”

She shook her head adamantly. “No,” Rey said. “I’d rather have this one…I’m sure of it.”

* * * * 

With her new acquisition secured in her pack, Rey walked another few minutes to reach the transport hub, then spent an additional twenty minutes negotiating for the use of a landspeeder as the owner tried to drain her of every single credit she possessed.

The journey to the farm coordinates was a surprisingly pleasant one, the wide, empty expanse of desert affording Rey a much-needed opportunity to breathe. For the past two weeks on Ajan Kloss she hadn’t had a single second of solitude – there was always some new treatise to help read over, some detail of the fledgling government to be hammered out, some planet where she had to dutifully be paraded as one of the heroes of the Resistance.

To her relief, she saw that the Lars’ homestead still stood, albeit severely weathered by time and exposure to the harsh Tatooine elements.

It was empty, as expected – the wind echoed in a lonesome way as it swept through the compound. No one had inhabited or tended to the place since the death of the original owners as the farm had passed to Luke’s proprietorship, and Luke had never had the time (or the desire) to come back.

_So this is where Master Luke grew up_ , Rey thought, not without some sense of commiseration. She could guess only too well what he had felt as a child, trapped by the invisible walls of the desert and longing for something more.

She regretted that her apprenticeship under the man had been so fleeting – the more she learned about Luke, the more she came to understand how similar their stories had been.

Although she hoped the ending to hers would be much, much different.

Grabbing a dented old piece of sheet metal that had probably fallen off one of the now-defunct irrigation units, Rey slid down the steep sides of the compound to reach the heart of it. A surprised _“Oomph!”_ escaped her when she thudded to a stop; she tightened her grip on the bundle she held to prevent its contents from flying out. 

Rey clambered off her makeshift sled and knelt in the center of the compound. Cupping her hands, she scooped away handfuls of sand. Gritty particles became embedded under her nails, but she barely noticed.

From the bundle she still cradled in her arms, she withdrew two items: lightsabers, Luke and Leia’s. She placed them reverently in the little hole she had dug, a lifetime of memories passing from Rey’s hands and laid to rest in the earth.

Then she removed one last precious thing.

A large black shirt, seamless except for a jagged rip along the front. Rey pressed it to her cheek for one tiny moment, rubbing her skin against its softness. A solitary tear slid down, down, down until it stained the fabric of Ben’s shirt.

“Goodbye,” she whispered.

Ben’s shirt was painstakingly folded and draped over his mother and uncle’s lightsabers. That way, at least, she knew he wouldn’t be alone.

Her eyes slipped closed as she called upon the Force, drawing upon its ubiquitous presence to achieve her purpose. The hole collapsed in on itself, an avalanche of sand pouring forth to bury the last heirlooms of the Skywalker family.

* * * * 

With the persisting ache in her heart, Rey knew she wasn’t ready yet to go back to Ajan Kloss and her friends. Being forced to maintain a charade of cheerfulness by grinning at Finn, bantering with Poe, and joking with Rose was more than she could handle right now.

And if one more person tried to parade her around as the “Jedi Hero of the Resistance” like a show-animal, she was going to take a leaf out of Master Luke’s book and kip off to become a crazy old hermit.

So instead she decided to explore the corridors of Luke’s childhood home, her feet making imprints on the dusty old floors where no one had tread for so many years. She clutched her new cactus companion in her hands, trying to stave off the loneliness that clung to the remnants of this home like a ghost.

The rooms were nearly bare – everything of value had obviously long since been stripped away by raiders – but there were still signs that a family had once dwelled within its walls. Colorful, moth-eaten rugs that someone had taken the time to knit adorned the floors, and yellowing sketches of landscapes were hung throughout the house. 

Rey swallowed hard when she encountered a door frame with notches carved into the side, accompanied by inked notations such as ‘Luke, Age Four’ and ‘Luke, Age Six’.

She skimmed her fingertips hesitantly against what must have been the door to her Master’s old room, before giving it a light shove and stepping over the threshold.

Only to find that someone had already beaten her there.

A large, cloaked figure was crouched on the floor, examining something in its hands.

The golden glow of her lightsaber was ignited in an instant, the humming blade pointed straight at the intruder.

Well, to be fair, _she_ was also technically an intruder. But being a short young woman all garbed in white with her hair freely bouncing about her shoulders, Rey figured she didn’t appear _nearly_ as ominous as the hooded stranger kneeling in the center of the room.

“Stand up and identify yourself!” she ordered, hands tightening on the hilt of her saber. “Who are you, and what is your purpose here?”

The figure dropped the item it had been holding, allowing it to fall to the floor with a clatter.

Rey spared the object a glance, and saw, strangely enough, that it was a model of an old T-16 Skyhopper…a child’s toy. One that must have been Luke’s.

And then Rey knew.

She knew before the person even stood up and revealed just how _tall_ they were. She knew before they even yanked the hood off their head, uncovering a mess of curly black hair and big ears.

She knew even before her shocked gaze met his, before she saw those _dark_ , lovely eyes that had starred in every dream and nightmare she’d had since Exegol.

She _knew_ , because the Force bond she had been keenly feeling the absence of for _so many weeks_ suddenly exploded to life, as though someone had tossed a lit match into an ocean of gasoline and set it ablaze.

_Ben_. 

And a Ben that apparently _wasn’t_ a Force ghost, if his corporeal, very non-bluish form was anything to go by.

But…that was _impossible_. She’d _seen_ him die in front of her very eyes. She had _kissed_ him and he’d _died_ and his hand had slipped away from hers and she had _grieved_ …

Her arms were locked in place, even as her hands violently trembled about her still-ignited lightsaber. She couldn’t seem to remember how to turn it off, couldn’t seem to remember how to do _anything_ except stare disbelievingly at her formerly dead soulmate.

“Well, I guess we wouldn’t be _us_ if our reunion didn’t start off with someone threatening the other,” Ben said wryly, his deep, wrenchingly familiar voice striking Rey to her core. “And here I thought you would be happy to see me, sweetheart.”

His wide mouth quirked into that achingly beautiful smile – a smile she had only seen once before.

Rey was torn between sobbing with joy, grabbing his face and kissing the living daylights out of him, or throwing her potted cactus at his _stupid_ head for making her believe he was _dead_.

And in the next second, a very not-dead Ben Solo was ducking as a perfectly-aimed potted cactus sailed towards his stupid head.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone's amazing response to the first chapter of this little story! I'm so happy everyone seems to be enjoying it so far (although I am sorry for making so many people cry along with with me TT_TT).

If Ben had ever doubted his parentage, it vanished the moment he went sprinting into the hellish depths of Exegol armed with nothing more than a blaster.

Because, really, it was something only the son of Han Solo and Leia Organa would do.

But Rey was in danger, and that was only the incentive Ben needed to go hurtling headlong into the unknown. Even as Kylo Ren, he reflected ruefully, the mere mention of her name had always been sufficient to spur him into action. That was the one thing that hadn’t changed upon his return to being ‘Ben Solo’.

Skidding to a halt at a gloomy crossroads, he had the prickling sensation that he was no longer alone. And unfortunately, it wasn’t another hapless group of stormtroopers sneaking up behind him with the amusing-yet-tragically-misguided belief they could catch him by surprise.

Instead, his ever-so-loyal Knights of Ren emerged as one from the mist, converging upon him with unmistakably lethal intent.

The ‘unmistakably’ part coming from the fact that their weapons were currently pointed straight at Ben.

Ungrateful bastards. Clearly a pitfall of redemption was losing some of the perks – like blindly obedient minions.

He sighed in annoyance, mentally charting out the fastest route to victory in a situation where he was facing seven angry ex-employees with various pointy armaments. In hindsight, he was sort of regretting chucking his lightsaber into the ocean.

The Knights lazily circled about him, and Ben’s dire sense of urgency grew. Every minute wasted here was another minute Rey would be left alone to face the greatest evil the galaxy had ever witnessed.

As though sensing the direction of his thoughts, an abrupt warmth spread through him as his connection to Rey flared to life.

Overwhelmed by the shared emotional trauma of the events on Endor, both he and Rey had desperately fled from their dyad link. But it returned now with a welcome ferocity – Ben imagined it was the Force’s way of smacking them both upside the head for their collective stupidity.

_…Ben?_

Her small voice lilted with hope in his ear – and it was the most beautiful sound Ben Solo had ever heard.

_Ben…it_ is _you._

Through the Force, he felt her. Through their bond, he saw her.

Time and distance meant nothing as their eyes met, his intense gaze locking onto Rey’s. The passing seconds slowed to a crawl, every ragged breath he took matching hers.

Nothing was secreted away now; Rey was broadcasting every emotion that pulsed within her. He absorbed everything – her fear that Palpatine could win, her anguish that her friends might die, her guilt that all might be lost because she was too _weak_.

Her joy at his presence.

_I’m here_ , he whispered, voiceless. _I’m coming for you._

_I know._ Even in the darkest of circumstances, Rey managed a faint smile. _But it seems like you could do with a bit of help too._

Ben nodded, feeling her answer in kind as she raised her lightsaber over her head. Her hand, which had trembled uncontrollably only seconds before, now moved with renewed confidence.

Staring defiantly at the Emperor, she released her grip on the weapon –

– and into Ben’s waiting hand.

His fingers closed around the hilt of Anakin Skywalker’s lightsaber.

****

Mercifully, Ben lost consciousness the second he hit the ground following his Palpatine-induced freefall into a very deep hole.

Not so mercifully, he had one hell of a pounding headache when he finally roused an undeterminable amount of time later.

He coughed as he rolled onto his side – the jarring motion caused a crippling pain to radiate across his chest. Merely the act of breathing felt like someone was repeatedly plunging a dagger into his lungs with malicious abandon.

_Fuck_.

He knew what that meant. Likely one or more of his ribs had been broken in his fall.

And unlike Rey, he barely possessed the knowledge of how to heal a paper cut, let alone an injury of this extent. After all, Snoke had dedicated years of meticulous training to ensure that Kylo Ren’s hands knew only how to destroy whatever he touched. Rey softly gliding her fingers against his that night on Ahch-To was the first gentle gesture he had experienced since fleeing to the Dark side.

Taking one rattling breath, Ben resolutely ignored the stabbing pain in his abdomen and climbed to his feet…

…then immediately collapsed against the craggy wall when his injured leg decided there was no way in hell it was bearing his weight.

He cast a desperate glance upwards. The top of the pit loomed countless meters above him, and the slick walls bore only scant outcroppings of rock that could be used as handholds.

Even the Force existed only as the feeblest of sensations, impeded from answering Ben’s call, for the Emperor’s malicious will brutally smothered everything in its path. Leeching off the energy of Ben and Rey’s dyad, it seemed, had amplified his power to an almost godlike degree.

Rey was trapped up there with Palpatine, all by herself.

And Ben was trapped in this forsaken pit, with no way to get to her. 

Hopelessness swept over him in an icy wave. 

He had failed his mother. He had failed his father. He had failed his uncle and grandfather, as well as the legendary warrior for whom he had been named. He had failed a thousand generations of Jedi who had come before him.

And now, Ben had failed the woman he loved.

He sank to the ground in despair, fingers digging brutally into the unyielding stone.

“Of all the things you could have inherited from me, it just had to be my dramatic tendencies, didn’t it?” A gentle caress lightly rustled Ben’s hair.

Startled, Ben jerked his head up –

– and found himself staring into an unfamiliar face, lit by the effervescent glow that signified a Force spirit.

Only…only the face wasn’t so unfamiliar, if he looked hard.

The young man’s sandy blond hair reminded him of Luke’s, as did his blue eyes. But the reckless grin this person wore – Ben couldn’t help but think of his mother when she had one of her daring plans formulating in her head. 

“Ah!” The man exclaimed, bearing a delighted look as he peered closer at Ben’s bewildered visage. “I’ll have to remember to tell Padmé – you _did_ end up with her eyes after all! She was hoping you would.”

_Padmé?_

Then…then that meant that…this person was his…

“Grandfather,” Ben whispered, the word falling hoarsely from his lips.

Anakin Skywalker beamed at his grandson, before leaning down with an outstretched hand. “Come on, Ben. No giving up now – there’s someone who’s waiting for you.”

Anakin’s form flickered in and out of being like a faulty holovid, but his fingers were solid under Ben’s tentative touch.

Inexplicably, Ben wanted to cry – this was not the fearsome, ghoulish creature in a mask that Kylo Ren had idolized and zealously sought guidance from. This was a man who was regarding Ben with unadulterated affection, with no trace of revulsion or disappointment displayed in that ageless face.

This was someone who loved him simply for being _Ben_. For simply being his cherished grandson.

Clinging to his grandfather in the manner of a small child learning to walk for the first time, Ben stumbled to his feet.

“There’s still time,” Anakin told him in a soft tone. “You can still save her.” His carefree façade melted into regret. “You can do what I wasn’t able to.”

He allowed himself five more precious seconds of leaning on his grandfather, rallying his waning strength, before taking two shaky steps towards the chasm’s wall. 

“I can…finish what you started,” Ben said. “I promise.”

_I won’t let her die. I won’t allow your story to become ours._

The boyish grin reappeared on Anakin’s face. “I don’t doubt it. And maybe we can lend a little help too.”

Ben quirked an eyebrow in confusion. “We…?”

“Yes, _we_ , kid,” a snippy tone caught Ben’s attention. It heralded the arrival of another Force spirit – this one a female Togruta with blue and white lekku. She was hovering a little further ways up the wall of the pit, arms crossed. “You don’t think I’d entrust the fate of the galaxy into Skyguy’s hands, do you?”

“Thanks for that, Snips,” Anakin replied dryly, glancing up at the grinning woman with a long-suffering expression. “Now, think you can give my grandson a boost?”

“Better than you can, Master,” the other one replied teasingly, before swiftly materializing before Ben and grabbing onto his hand.

_Master?_ Before Ben could fully process that he was apparently in the presence of Anakin Skywalker’s legendary apprentice, Ahsoka called out “Obi-Wan, catch!” and unceremoniously launched Ben upwards.

An older man with a thick bushy beard and a woolen cloak caught him, pulling Ben further up the wall with ease. “Skywalkers,” he sighed. “Can’t there just be a _single_ decade where there isn’t one of you having a galaxy-threatening emotional crisis?”

“Master, you know you’d get bored otherwise,” Anakin called out cheerfully from below.

“Hmph.” Obi-Wan Kenobi cast a stern eye at Ben. “Remember, young Ben, trust your instincts…unless it’s a Skywalker-type instinct, in which case please do the exact opposite of what it's telling you.”

There was a faint twinkle in Obi-Wan’s gaze as he guided Ben towards the next shimmering silhouette floating nearby.

“Hey kid,” a rueful voice sounded from above him.

It was a voice Ben knew all too well, having toiled for years under the man’s tutelage. He had spent so long idolizing the person the voice belonged to, praying he would meet his expectations of greatness.

“I told you I’d see you around.” Luke reached down to him, although there was a slight trepidation to his normally composed movements – as though he wasn’t sure that Ben would accept.

Luke’s expressions were a kaleidoscope of raw emotion. Shame, regret, determination, love…had his uncle’s face ever been so transparent before?

Ben clasped his uncle’s rough hand, causing a broad smile to erupt on Luke’s face. Holding him close, Luke carried Ben higher up, nearly to the opening of the pit. He could barely see the bottom anymore. 

“There’s someone else who very much wants to see you as well,” Luke said quietly.

Dread swirled in Ben’s stomach as Luke’s words sank in, and an achingly recognizable Force signature materialized close by.

Ben swallowed hard, almost too frightened to look. It was simultaneously the one person he had both been longing and dreading to encounter.

Translucent fingers grasped his with a strength that belied their delicate appearance. For the first time in years, mother and son touched.

“Sweetheart,” Leia said. “You’re almost there. Just a little further, I promise.”

He nodded jerkily, not trusting himself to speak as he finally summoned the courage to meet his mother’s gentle eyes.

There…there just wasn’t enough _time._

Mere seconds weren’t enough to encapsulate the days, months, _years_ of suppressed feelings, or to verbalize the bitter, accusatory words he had swallowed back each time his mother had called the temple hoping to speak with him.

Mere seconds weren’t enough to tell her how _sorry_ he was.

Instead, Ben squeezed her hand tighter – holding on as he’d desperately wanted to do a lifetime ago when his mother had kissed his forehead, told him to be a good boy for his Uncle Luke, and then departed without a backwards glance.

Leia’s firm hold directed his fingers towards the edge of the chasm. 

“You can do this,” Leia soothed, smoothing his damp hair back. “You are _my_ son, Ben. I have faith in you.” She smiled. “I always have.”

****

With the ghosts of his family faded back into the Force, Ben hauled himself to the top with a groan, smears of blood trailing after him from where his palms had been cut by jagged rock. He rested at the edge for a moment, his panting breaths deafening in the echo chamber.

There was only one thought that galvanized him, one thought that forced him to pull himself onto to his hands and knees, then to his feet.

_Rey_.

_Rey, I’m coming. Just hold on a little longer, sweetheart._

And then, as quickly and effortlessly as a candle being extinguished, Ben Solo felt it as one half of his soul was abruptly _ripped_ from him.

****

And.

He.

_Screamed_.

****

Half delirious with pain and grief – _she’s not gone, she’s not, she’s not, she can’t be gone, don’t be gone –_ Ben limped towards the Sith chamber, dragging his useless leg behind him.

He could no longer sense any Force signatures emanating from the chamber ahead – not the vile, twisted one of Palpatine, not the eerily monotonous ones of his hooded devotees…

…and not the strong, unwavering one that had always informed him when his headstrong little Scavenger was nearby.

The hollowed out room was completely obliterated when he reached it, jagged chunks of the ceiling strewn about the floor. Not giving a damn about the rampant destruction, he scoured the room for any sign of _her_.

There – she was sprawled amidst the charred rubble of the room.

_Rey_.

When he could no longer manage to stagger his way towards her, he fell to his knees and crawled. And when he could no longer do that, Ben dragged himself, one agonizing movement at a time, until he reached her.

She was so tiny, lying there.

So tiny and so still.

And her eyes were open.

Staring blankly up to the stars.

And she wasn’t –

Rey _wasn’t –_

She wasn’t _moving_.

He pulled her clumsily onto his lap, anchoring her tight against him as his fingers searched for her wrist.

Just one beat. One throb of her pulse.

That was all he needed.

But her wrist remained limp and cold in his grasp, and her chest refused to rise and fall in tandem with his own sobbing breaths.

_No_.

_Oh, no. No._

_Please._

Ben looked around frantically, desperate for any hint of a Force ghost or member of the Resistance. Someone, _anyone_ , that could save her.

But no one came.

Once again, Ben Solo found himself completely alone.

There was no one to save her…

…no one, except _him_.

He hugged Rey close, burying his face in the crook of her neck. Ben wished, with every last, damaged part of him, that they could have had years together.

For as long as he could remember, everything worthwhile in his life had been taken from him.

His family ( _tears blurred his eyes even as he took his uncle’s hand and watched the Falcon bear his parents far, far away – why had they abandoned him here?)_.

His peace ( _those terrible voices that had whispered in his mind since boyhood)_.

His refuge ( _an agonized cry tore from him as unnatural lightning struck the Jedi temple, decimating his home of the past thirteen years)_.

But Rey?

His brave girl?

Like _hell_ would he allow the same fate to befall her.

She deserved to find her sunlit green planet, with the shimmering ocean she had dreamed of.

He would make sure of it.

Gently easing her back in his arms, he spread his fingers across her stomach…

…and gave her everything.

* * *

Rapidly going from being sweetly kissed by the love of your life, to dying, to abruptly waking up in the overly bright afterlife with your worried mother hovering over you was a bizarre experience, and not one Ben would care to repeat.

Ever.

“Rey,” he choked out as soon as he regained the power of speech, unable to think of anything else save for the brokenhearted girl he had been forced to leave behind. “She’s – is she – ”

“Still very much alive, thanks to you,” Leia finished, her expression watery. “My strong, courageous boy.”

Ben slumped backwards, relief making him boneless. Knowing Rey’s stubbornness she would probably hold a grudge against him forever for sacrificing himself for her sake, but at least she would be _alive_. 

He could deal with her hating him, so long as she was doing it from some place that flourished with life – somewhere she could laugh, and grow flowers, and have a real home.

Somewhere she could find somebody’s hand to hold for the rest of her days…somebody who wasn’t quite as ruined and completely undeserving of her. 

He lay there in an exhausted heap, eyes closed, until a soothing touch upon his brow jolted him into wakefulness. A surge of replenishing energy coursed through him – energy that was not his own.

“Mom – you can’t – ”

“It’s okay. This is what I want, more than anything.” Leia’s voice became thick. “Just once, I want to be there for you, to protect you. Just once, I want to be the mother you needed me to be. I have enough strength left for that, at the very least.”

Ben’s dark eyes met the softer brown gaze of his mother. He was stricken by how _old_ she looked now, with wrinkles liberally adorning the corners of her mouth and her hair having turned a muted gray.

The last time he had seen her, he had been a little boy. Furious at his perceived abandonment at his uncle’s temple, and heartbroken in the belief that his parents no longer wanted him, Ben had steadfastly refused to meet with them during his training as a Padawan.

Their foolishness, both his and his parents’, had cost them so many years.

Leaning forward, he hugged his mother. His nose buried in her hair, taking in the familiar scent of Alderaan lilies. Suddenly, he was five years old again and curled up on his mother’s lap, eagerly watching the night sky with her as they awaited his father’s return.

“Mom,” he said brokenly. “I’m sorry.”

Ben didn’t know which sin he was seeking forgiveness for. Straying to the Dark Side? Killing Han? Forsaking his mother when she most needed him?

The litany of his transgressions was impossibly long…surely even a mother’s compassion had its limits.

But Leia’s arms embraced him just as tightly. He thought he heard a tiny sniffle against his shoulder.

“Me too, Ben. I’m sorry too.”

Pulling back, she cupped his face. Her fingers brushed over the angles and planes, committing every detail to memory. 

Leia slowly grew serious, morphing with difficulty from tender mother to the General who once commanded hundreds of thousands. “But you have to go now. There is still so much to be done – you know as well as I do that remnants of the First Order still linger.”

A disquiet overtook her, as though a chill had run the length of her body. “There is also the question as to how the return of Darth Sidious was made possible…unfortunately, there are no answers to be derived on this side of things.”

Ben nodded grimly. “I understand, Mom.”

“Besides, Rey will most certainly need you at her side for what’s to come.”

Leia gave her son a knowing glance. He felt the tips of his ears turn an alarming shade of red – an irritating trait that apparently not even being _dead_ could stop.

“And Ben?” A secretive smile played on his mother’s lips, laughter flickering in her eyes. “When you see Rey again, I strongly advise you to duck.”

Ben blinked. “What – ”

And then everything was swallowed up in darkness.

Leia’s grinning face was the last thing to fade before he lost consciousness.

Again.

* * *

Back on Ajan Kloss where she was keeping vigil at Leia’s bedside, Maz smiled tearfully into the distance as her old friend’s body became one with the Force at last.

Princess Leia Organa, hero of the Rebellion and leader of the Resistance, was finally at peace.

And in her place a flame sparked anew – not an exact replica of Leia’s fire, but a combination of the best of her and Han.

“Kiddo,” Maz murmured, feeling a sudden blaze of hope for the future ignite within her ancient bones. “Don’t waste the chance she’s granted you.”

* * *

Ben quickly learned four things:

One: Coming back from the dead was enormously _not fun_. He’d been thrown off cliffs, been electrocuted, been stabbed multiple times (Rey being the most recent recipient of that particular honor), and been subjugated to Luke Skywalker’s cooking for more than half his life, but nothing quite compared to the pain of the revivification process.

Two: The Force, rather than choosing to rematerialize him somewhere _convenient_ (i.e. wherever Rey was) apparently decided that Exegol was an _excellent_ choice of location for his rebirth.

Three: He was quite shirtless. He’d at least reawakened in the same pants he had died in (thank goodness for small favors), but his sweater was conspicuously absent.

And fourth: Stolen TIE Fighters you previously crash landed in your frenetic haste to rescue your soulmate from the senile reanimated corpse of her Sith relative did _not_ repair easily. Luckily the space snails on Exegol had no ears to be offended by the creative expletives being leveled at the defunct ship.

* * *

Even as Force ghosts, his family had the particular talent of being enormously _unhelpful_.

“You’re looking in all the wrong places, kid,” Luke mentioned casually after about a week of Ben scouring different forest planets and any last known locations of the Resistance for a hint of Rey’s whereabouts. “Did you try, oh, I don’t know…Tatooine?”

Largely unfazed by his uncle and mother’s random appearances by this point (ten days since he had managed to escape Exegol, and they were certainly making up for lost time by popping around as often as possible), Ben was only half paying attention to Luke’s words.

“Of course not,” he mumbled, crossing out yet another failed location on his list. He dragged a frustrated hand through his hair, wishing for the hundredth time that Rey’s end of the bond hadn’t fallen worrisomely silent. “Why would she be _there_?”

“…just a hunch.” Luke shrugged. “But I’m also dead and sort of omniscient, so you could also say it’s more like I one hundred percent _know_ she’s going to be heading there.”

Ben stared at Luke.

Luke stared at Ben.

“Tatooine?” Ben repeated blankly. “You’re _kidding_.”

What in the world had possessed her to go to _that_ monumental sand dump? It was basically Jakku all over again, only much shittier, ten times as dangerous, and teeming with organized crime run by giant sentient slugs.

It couldn’t have been further from the lush, vibrant planet he had imagined for her.

Then something occurred to him.

“Hold on – you’re only telling me this _now_?”

A guilty look rippled over Luke’s bearded face. “You never asked!”

“I _did_ ask _,_ ” Ben retorted, eyes narrowed. “And was summarily informed that it was, and I quote, ‘a journey I would have to complete on my own.’”

“Well…yes…but you’re taking too long,” came Luke’s maddening rationale. “Though to be fair, Tatooine wouldn’t have been my first guess either. Awful place for a vacation, really.”

Ben wondered if it was physically possible to throttle a Force ghost.

* * *

His uncle’s old home on Tatooine was awfully reminiscent of a tomb when he finally arrived, empty and fallen into disarray. Everywhere he tread, it felt as though the phantoms of relatives Ben had never met were dragging cold fingers along his spine.

And more importantly, there was no sign of Rey yet. 

Which was probably for the best, seeing as Ben didn’t yet have a concrete plan as to how he was going to go about revealing he was very much alive to her.

Rey’s hotheaded approach tended to be ‘lightsaber first, ask questions later’ (which, honestly, he wasn’t really in any position to fault her for), so surprising her with news of his aliveness would probably end very badly.

For him, at least. And he really had no desire to be stabbed again.

But still…he wanted to see her. Wanted to sweep her small form up in his arms and kiss her – _without_ the threat of his impending death hovering over his head to ruin everything this time.

Sighing, he knelt down to pick up a dusty toy starship that lay on the floor of what seemed to be Luke’s old room. He turned it over idly in his hands, staring at it blindly.

Then the door creaked, followed by the soft pad of footsteps.

His entire chest became suffused with warmth, as though someone had reached into his motionless heart and coaxed it into beating again.

Only one person could provoke such a response in him.

_Rey_.

There was the crackling hum of an ignited lightsaber. The dark room became bathed with a… _golden_ glow?

Proudly, he realized she must have attained the knowledge of constructing her own lightsaber at last. Although, thinking back to his barely-functional red blade that was just as likely to scald _him_ as it was his enemies given the impractical cross guard, he sincerely hoped Rey's was superior to his own disastrous attempt at crafting a lightsaber. 

“Stand up and identify yourself!” Rey’s voice commanded. “Who are you, and what is your purpose here?”

Obediently he raised his hands, allowing the toy starfighter to tumble to the floor. Ben opened himself to their bond completely, willing her to do the same.

Rising to his feet in one fluid motion, he pulled back the hood he wore and turned to face Rey with his heart in his throat.

Stars, had she always been this lovely? Even with her eyes as round as saucers and her mouth ajar in astonishment, she was the most beautiful thing he’d seen in his thirty years of existence.

Even if she _was_ trying to stab him yet again. 

“Well, I guess we wouldn’t be _us_ if our reunion didn’t start off with someone threatening the other,” Ben said wryly, his lips quirking upwards in a teasing grin. “And here I thought you would be happy to see me, sweetheart.”

The next second, Ben wisely followed his mother’s advice and ducked as a _potted cactus_ (of all things) came flying at his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: the author shamelessly indulges in her favorite fanfic tropes ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°). 
> 
> Multiple choice question, is my favorite trope:  
> A) Convenient Storms that Pop Up and Make the Characters Seek Shelter  
> B) There is Only One Bed  
> C) Mutual Pining  
> D) All of the above
> 
> Also I'm on Tumblr at https://kylo-bae.tumblr.com - feel free to visit and squee about reylo with me!


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